


Hidden Colors

by Shaele



Series: Colors of My World [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, OOC Fluff, Somewhat, Synesthesia, but fluff nonetheless, mentions of bullying, that's literally all it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaele/pseuds/Shaele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Because of the bullying, Misaki never grew up to be a social person. The only person he had ever accepted in his life was Saruhiko, who had developed a soft spot for the quiet kid early on in their friendship. Saruhiko never made fun of the colors that only Misaki could see, nor did he ever pressure him into doing things he didn’t like. In fact, Saruhiko often let Misaki lead the way.</i><br/>Misaki was a quiet person, thanks to the icy-colored voices that had surrounded him since grade school. However, Misaki was also a happy person, thanks to the only person that fully accepted him for who he was and what he had.<br/>Or: Yata Misaki has (some form of) synesthesia, and was bullied for having it ever since he was a child. Now, years later, Saruhiko's by his side and on the verge of telling Misaki that the tinges of pink may have a deeper meaning than Misaki thinks it has.<br/>(Warning: OOC, not beta read. Misaki was bullied, okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Colors

Misaki loved to draw.

His apartment was littered with sketchbooks full of random drawings. He drew trivial things such as breakfast foods and remnants of past dreams, and he sometimes drew landscapes and people and even flowers. He’d fill the pages with colors that only he could see, from the blaring of the car horns to even the soft sighs of people as they walked by.

He especially loved to draw sounds, because they always made the most intricate colors. Sometimes they were a single hue, and other times there would be hints of other colors within the sounds. He mostly loved drawing his best friend’s voice, which always somehow finds its way into most of his drawings.

“Misaki.” His best friend breathed a rich, lively purple. Misaki had given him the key to his apartment ages ago, for reasons forgotten by either. Ever since then, though, they both came to a silent agreement that they would live together.

“Hm?” Misaki looked up towards the source of the entrancing purple, straight into eyes as dark as the middle of the ocean. He noticed tinges of pink, but didn’t think to dwell on it much. It was a pretty pink, though, like cherry blossoms in full bloom. Misaki wished he knew what it meant.

“What are you drawing this time?” Saruhiko asked him, watching Misaki’s eyes chase after something visible only to himself.

Misaki had a soft smile on his face. “Your voice is purple again,” he murmured, scratching at the page he was working on prior to Saruhiko’s interruption. “Purple always means you’re content.”

“You can connect feelings to colors?” Saruhiko raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard of Misaki being able to differentiate emotions through colors.

“Just yours.” Misaki replied, picking up a couple purple colored pencils and scribbling at the spot he was just scratching at. “That purple reminds me of the way my pillow smells. You know how pillows usually give off that scent that kinda just makes you feel satisfied or something? That scent.”

“You’re not making sense again,” Saruhiko muttered, his voice shifting.

Misaki frowned. “Ah, that’s not as pretty of a color...”

“What do you mean?”

“The color your voice is right now. It’s green again, like the first time I met you. You’re not happy?”

Saruhiko hardly ever made sense of Misaki’s description of things, but he was used to it. He was used to Misaki commenting on the colors of his voice, and seeing drawings that sometimes didn’t make much sense because sounds never made sense on paper.

He sighed. “I’m just confused, that’s all.”

They both still remembered how they first met all those years ago. It was in their first year of middle school, during free period. They were discussing sports festival preparations, which was something Saruhiko wanted nothing to do with, so he had simply started sulking in his chair, muttering about how much of a waste of time all of this was.

That was when a quiet voice called out to him from behind. _“Your voice is a really pretty color.”_ It caused Saruhiko to turn and look at whoever the source of it was.

 _“What?”_ he had asked the boy rather coldly. His classmate flinched.

 _“Ah, it turned grey…”_ He murmured, leaning back onto his chair. _“It was a pretty green earlier…”_

And that’s when it all happened. Saruhiko would ask the boy about the colors and about himself – who he eventually realized was Yata Misaki, the kid who had been bullied since grade school because of his small appearance and the way he made no sense when he tried to compliment people by describing the color (and smell, sometimes) of their voices.

Because of the bullying, Misaki never grew up to be a social person. The only person he had ever accepted in his life was Saruhiko, who had developed a soft spot for the quiet kid early on in their friendship. Saruhiko never made fun of the colors that only Misaki could see, nor did he ever pressure him into doing things he didn’t like. In fact, Saruhiko often let Misaki lead the way.

Misaki was a quiet person, thanks to the icy-colored voices that had surrounded him since grade school. However, Misaki was also a happy person, thanks to the only person that fully accepted him for who he was and what he had.

And here they were now, six years later, Saruhiko seated next to Misaki on their small couch, watching his best friend draw what he imagined to be his voice through Misaki’s eyes. He saw the vague outline of the two of them on the couch; Misaki’s knees were pulled up to his chest to create a makeshift table for his sketch pad while Saruhiko was simply relaxing at his side. He noticed how Misaki had surrounded his figure in purple, while his remained colorless.

Misaki never knew what his voice sounded or smelled like. Sometimes it frustrated the small boy to the point that he’d stop drawing for days on end, and other times Saruhiko would be there in time to stop his moment of self-destruction and assure him that his voice was amazing.

_“Like fresh pancakes.” Saruhiko said during his last ‘episode’._

While Misaki drew on the page, Saruhiko couldn’t help but doze off on his shoulder. The day was so _quiet_ , so _serene_ , and the sun wasn’t so warm that it made them uncomfortable under its light. He didn’t get many days like this. As a freelance programmer, he sometimes stayed awake for _days_ to meet near-impossible deadlines, but the pay from doing these types of tasks was more than enough to sustain both him and Misaki. Misaki, on the other hand, worked as a part-time art instructor at a nearby daycare and would sometimes fill in empty shifts at a nearby bar. They both paid moderately well, and though Misaki didn’t really need to work, he felt that he had to do _something_ with his day, or else it’d always be boring.

_“Besides,” he said one day, his eyes shining. “I wouldn’t be able to have so many things to draw if I was home all day.”_

Saruhiko woke to find Misaki asleep with his head on his lap and sketchbook splayed out on the floor, and he couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips. Saruhiko liked their current lifestyle. When he didn’t have a project to work on, Misaki would always make sure to return from his jobs as soon as possible so that they could play games together and fix up the apartment if it was messy by any means. They’d go out sometimes when Saruhiko was willing to, and they’d always arrive back home with more things for Misaki to draw.

Misaki would draw either in his free time or when he felt that Saruhiko would enjoy a little bit of silence. It kept his mind away from his murky brown memories of school days that didn’t involve Saruhiko. Misaki was always scolded ] when he drew those memories, so he eventually ripped those drawings out of their bindings and tucked them away in a folder somewhere in their storage closet, away from prying eyes.

_“To a new beginning.” Misaki said that day._

Misaki was a light sleeper, so something as small as a slight shift caused him to stir. He yawned quietly, stretching his arms out like a sleepy cat. Saruhiko chuckled as he watched Misaki, and checked the time on his PDA; it was still early in the afternoon and he knew that Misaki was itching to go out and do something with him today. He waited until Misaki sat up and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to chase away the sleepiness before he opened up the idea.

“Let’s go out.” Saruhiko said, yawning a little. Misaki’s earlier yawn had somehow affected him.

“Where to?” Misaki murmured, looking up towards Saruhiko.

“The arcade?” He offered. “They’re supposed to have new prizes this week.”

Misaki smiled. “Sure.”

They both got up and Misaki prepared a light snack before walking with Saruhiko to the arcade. They passed by the usual sights: a small grocery store, a couple food shops, and a mall. The arcade they frequented wasn’t any more than a fifteen-minute walk away, if Misaki didn’t turn to take in the scenery of colors invisible to the rest of the world.

Upon arrival, Misaki immediately dashed for the shooting game – one of the only things he was better at than Saruhiko. They would always play two-player games and tease each other when one played a single-player game, never one without the other.

“Yeah! I win again!” Misaki grinned triumphantly as the screen displayed their scores. Misaki had managed to score a good 45,000 points more than Saruhiko.

“I bet you can’t beat me at Skee-ball, though.” Saruhiko challenged, glancing towards said machines.

Misaki narrowed his eyes at Saruhiko. “I bet you I can!” he huffed before grabbing Saruhiko’s hand and leading him towards the Skee-ball machines. “What do you wanna bet?”

Saruhiko contemplated some possibilities before settling with one rather small trophy. “One drawing.”

Misaki stared at him in confusion. “Hah?”

“One drawing. Winner chooses the prompt.”

Misaki was still confused, but he accepted the challenge nonetheless. He rolled up his sleeves, and at the count of three they each dropped a token and began the game. Misaki was so immersed in his own game that he didn’t even notice Saruhiko sneaking a ball out of Misaki’s container and tossing one of his own into the redhead’s machine. He only realized that Saruhiko had cheated when he noticed the stray ball slowly creep its way to the edge of the ramp and drop into the 0-point slot. “Hey!” Misaki growled, snatching the ball that was in Saruhiko’s hand and tossing it into his 0-point slot. “No cheating!”

Saruhiko smirked, already satisfied with the 250-point gap between their scores. Misaki only had three balls left, and Saruhiko was on his fourth. He played lazily, and watched in amusement as Misaki struggled to hit the 40-point hole.

Saruhiko eventually won, and they left the consequence for later as they spent the rest of the afternoon trying to outdo each other in various kinds of games, starting from car racing and somehow ending at the dance central game that sat near the front of the arcade. They had attracted a lot of attention, and as soon as they finished they ran back inside to avoid having to interact with whoever would be bold enough to approach them. Misaki’s face was red with embarrassment as they caught their breaths by the crane games.

Misaki was laughing, his rich voice filling the air around them.

Oh, how Saruhiko wished to see Misaki’s colors, even if it were _just_ his.

 

**_______**

 

They arrived back at the apartment past dinnertime. Saruhiko had lost the dinner bet, so they bought take-out Chinese food before making the trek home.

Misaki had a medium-sized, cream-colored teddybear in his arms as they walked into the apartment, courtesy of Saruhiko’s all-too-amazing knife throwing abilities.

“Misaki, the plates.” Saruhiko said, setting the food onto the table and opening the small food containers. The smell of rice and beef-broccoli filled the room, and both of their stomachs seemed to grumble at the same time.

“Yes, yes.” Misaki replied, setting the bear down on his lower bunk bed and going to help Saruhiko get dinner set up. It was always like this; whoever didn’t prepare food that night would be the ones to set up the table as well as clean it, while they each washed their own dishes.

They ate in relative silence, Saruhiko still refusing to eat the broccoli and practically taking _all_ of the beef in the container. Misaki in turn stole the potstickers, sticking his tongue out as he watched Saruhiko pout a little.

After cleaning up and taking a shower, Misaki went back to drawing on the couch while Saruhiko was on his top bunk bed, typing away at his laptop. Neither spoke to each other until Misaki dragged himself into their bedroom with his sketchbook and colored pencils in his arms.

“Misaki~” Saruhiko sang, looking down from his bunk. “C’mere.”

Misaki looked at him weirdly. The voice was red with hints of pink, something he hasn’t seen in a while. “Why?”

“It’s cold.”

“So?”

“Warm me up.”

“Why?”

“Tch.” Misaki saw the vague green of Saruhiko’s voice and frowned. He tossed his drawing materials up onto Saruhiko’s bunk, trying his best to avoid hitting his friend, and climbed up to meet him.

Saruhiko gestured for Misaki to sit next to him, which he did almost immediately. Their blankets weren’t very thick and winter was well on its way; they usually slept together when the cold came to be too much to bear, and neither ever bothered to buy thicker blankets because they much preferred each other’s warmth and that was the only excuse they could each think of in order to share a bed together.

They were silent for a few minutes; Saruhiko was fixing some bugs in a program while Misaki watched his fingers glide over the keyboard expertly.

“What are you doing?” Misaki asked, trying to comprehend the code that was on the screen. He could read a little bit of what was on the screen, but unless he knew what _everything_ in the file did, a snippet of it didn’t make complete sense to him.

“I’m trying to fix something for your watch.” He murmured.

Misaki cocked his head to the side. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Not really, no,” he sighed. “I’m just trying to make it easier for you to message people.”

“Eeh,” Misaki leaned onto Saruhiko, resting his head on his friend’s shoulder. He felt Saruhiko’s muscles move as they worked to allow his fingers to type. “I don’t really need to talk to anyone other than you.” He unhooked his watch from his wrist and tossed it to the far side of the bed, where it usually ended up at when they shared the top bunk together.

Saruhiko chuckled. “Then let me rephrase that: I’m trying to make it easier for you to message me.”

“Nnn.” Misaki yawned. He grabbed his sketchbook and colored pencils, ready to start drawing again. He had so many pastel memories he could draw right this moment. “Do you know what you want me to draw, yet?”

Saruhiko thought for a moment before saying a single word. “Love.”

“Love?”

“Yeah.”

“What? Why?”

“I want to know what color love is for you.”

Misaki frowned. He didn’t understand _what_ brought Saruhiko to even think about things like this. Did he have someone he liked? His heart twisted painfully at the thought of Saruhiko liking someone enough to leave him. He was the one that Saruhiko had decided to be with for six years; when did he have time to find someone to _like_ … to _love_?

His throat tightened up and Misaki made a quiet, pained sound, causing Saruhiko to freeze in the middle of his typing. “Misaki?”

Misaki’s lower lip trembled as he brought to words the only thing that was on his mind right now. “Saruhiko, do you have someone you like?” He imagined his voice to be an icy white color.

Saruhiko saved his project, closed the laptop and put it, along with his PDA, glasses, and Misaki’s watch, into a drawer he had made there on the wall. Misaki watched Saruhiko set his things away and turn to him with the softest expression he had ever seen Saruhiko make.

“I might have.” He murmured, looking Misaki straight in the eyes. Misaki watched Saruhiko’s voice go from a light purple to red to pink – colors he never recalled his voice to ever be.

It scared Misaki, but he only nodded, swallowed down the knot that was in his throat, and began drawing the first thing that came to mind.

He drew Saruhiko and himself just like how they were a moment ago; Saruhiko with his laptop and Misaki with his sketchpad. It started out that way, but as Misaki kept drawing and drawing the Misaki on paper began to fade into the background as he focused on Saruhiko.

Saruhiko didn’t look at the drawing, and instead sat watching Misaki’s eyes scan the sketchpad. His intense focus caused shivers to go down Saruhiko’s spine, and he became more and more restless as the minutes dragged on.

Ten minutes passed before Misaki tossed the colored pencils towards the foot of the bed, where the drawer was. He fidgeted as he handed Saruhiko the sketchpad. Tears started to well up in his eyes as he watched Saruhiko scan the drawing attentively.

It was simply Saruhiko, with an aura of every single color Misaki has ever seen his voice in, except the fleeting pink that would rarely reveal itself was _everywhere_ on the page. Misaki didn’t really understand _why_ he made the pink so prominent, but he felt that he _had_ to.

After a moment of silence, Misaki tried to speak. “Y-you’re going to leave, right?”

Saruhiko froze, looking up and straight into Misaki’s teary eyes. “What?”

“Y-you have someone you like, right? You should g-go see them. Be with them.” He whispered. “You shouldn’t force yourself to be here w-with me.” He couldn’t bear to look at Saruhiko anymore, so he dropped his gaze onto his empty lap. Flashes of his lonely grade school days flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but dig his nails into his wrist and start scratching, desperate to make the pain go away.

Misaki was fragile. He wasn’t the amazingly strong hero he was in his dreams. He didn’t have red flames so powerful that it could kick anybody’s butts into next season. Instead, he had adopted Saruhiko’s personality and buried everything deep, _deep_ into the back of his mind, only coming to scratch at his wrists when, for some reason, he would remember the dark brown or the pain of being unable to become what he wanted to be.

Saruhiko immediately tossed the sketchbook away and pulled Misaki into an embrace, forcing him to stop scratching. “Stupid Misaki,” He whispered into Misaki’s hair. He was used to Misaki scratching at his wrists, and never made a move to comment on it – only stop it. “Didn’t my voice tell you?”

“Tell me what?” he croaked.

“That I had fallen for you.”

Misaki stilled.

“I might not know what colors my voice can be,” he kept his voice low, _soothing_. “But you started drawing in hints of pink when I started to think that I loved you. So I _know_ that that’s what pink means.”

Misaki didn’t think to try to make sense of the faint pinks of Saruhiko’s voice back then; he was content enough with the deep purple that he came to know and love.

But really, Misaki loved _all_ of Saruhiko’s colors.

“Why are you crying?” Saruhiko asked, pulling Misaki far enough away to swipe at his cheeks.

“I-I…”

“Tell me, Misaki.”

Misaki took a deep breath. He hated talking about his feelings. He would rather talk about the colors of the world than talk about the things he kept bottled inside of him most of the time. “I don’t like the thought of you leaving.”

“Who said I was leaving?”

“B-but…” Saruhiko’s earlier words still hadn’t sunk in yet.

“Stupid Misaki.”

Saruhiko leaned down to kiss Misaki, softly yet sweetly. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, and when Saruhiko pulled away to look Misaki in the eyes once more he found that there was something in them that he hadn’t seen before.

“Do you get it now?” He whispered, watching Misaki shift his focus between Saruhiko’s eyes and voice.

“Pink…” he murmured. “It’s all pink now.”

They bumped foreheads, and Misaki threw his hands around Saruhiko. “You’re not leaving, right?” His eyes seemed to smile, making Saruhiko smile in return.

“I’m not, stupid.”

“Good.” Misaki laughed through the last of the tears. “I like your pink.”

“You’re such a girl,” he teased.

“If only you should see your colors, though.” Misaki murmured, peeking down towards Saruhiko’s lips.

“I wish I could see yours.” Saruhiko breathed, ruffling Misaki’s hair. It was as long as it was since they first met in middle school, and Saruhiko wouldn’t have liked it any other way.

“They’re beautiful, Saru.” Misaki stared at Saruhiko’s voice. “Your colors.”

Saruhiko sighed. “Wanna go to bed?”

“… Yeah.”

They disentangled themselves, Saruhiko pulling the blanket up and Misaki fluffing the only pillow they had in the bunk.

“The lights.” Saruhiko mumbled, rubbing an eye.

“I got it!” Misaki climbed out of the bunk to switch the lights off and grabbed his new teddybear before climbing back up to where Saruhiko was.

“Why did you bring that?”

Misaki shrugged. “Why not?”

Saruhiko sighed, but spread his arms so that Misaki – and the bear – could climb into his embrace. Eventually, though, Misaki pushed the teddybear away in favor of Saruhiko’s warmth.

“Goodnight, Saru.”

“Goodnight, Misaki.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting off my multi-chapter fic until after school, so if anyone has any short story prompts let me hear them!


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